


Emma

by vampirewithbedsidemanners



Category: Hiddlestoner, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirewithbedsidemanners/pseuds/vampirewithbedsidemanners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You act like I'm human,<br/>You pretend like you care,<br/>But if you knew the truth of me,<br/>You would not be standing there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday

I shattered. That is what this is, surely. This is what little is left of my heart ripping into pieces and crumbling in ash. This is what it feels like to become the flame in my veins. The room around me, the soldiers in uniforms that stand like statues watching me in silence, too stunned to move. Shock. This is shock and loss and regret. This is pain.

“I AUTHORIZE!!! DEF-CON 1! I AUTHORIZE DEADLY FORCE!!!” I repeated over and over, gripping the back of the chair in front of me. There was no one on the other end to receive my orders, not anymore. Silent static hummed in between each phrase, in the chasm of death and loss. There was nothing I could do from there. My voice got smaller and smaller, room around me spinning in and out of focus.

“Canna…” I choked out, feeling myself falling and not having the energy to move my arms to catch myself. Hands grabbed me from behind, holding me up as my legs gave out and I lost the ability to stand.

“Natalia… The General…” An operator from somewhere beyond the tight tunnel my vision formed spoke. Shaking, I lifted my hand out and felt the weight of a phone being pressed against my palm.

Auto pilot. That is what I need. Just auto pilot... I whispered in my head as I pulled the phone to my ears.

“We lost it.” He yelled into my ear.

“Yes, sir.” Speaking pulled me back. I shoved a wall in place to dam the flow of pain.

“Get it back.” His voice was a growl.

“Yes, sir.” My reply was automatic; quick, short, and direct. There was a pause after my answer, and I could feel the anger dissipating through the phone; dissipating into mournful realization, almost pity.

“Not you.” He finally got out, his voice back to normal and his tone laced with years of stress and loss and understanding. It was a quiet, tired tone that scratched at the wall that I was still building.

“Sir?” My voice did not waver as I broke my repetitive answers.

“You… Break. Take a week, stay in Moscow. You just lost your entire unit. Go home. Take the time you need to pull yourself together.”

“I need to work.” I replied. Memories of Azkaban flashed in my mind; the aftermath, the grief. I could see myself sitting in my empty apartment, legs strewn out in front of me, greasy, dirty hair tumbling down into my face. Sitting on the floor, back to the wall, bottle in one hand, picture in the other...

“Home.” he ordered.

“... Interpreting?” I put something behind it. Maybe fear, maybe emotion. I don't really know. There was a pause, a brief moment of silence as he weighed my answer; the good and the bad and the possibility.

“Talk to Putin. Stay in Moscow. I want your gun.” He replied. Before I said anything, there was a click and the long drawn out dial tone as the General hung up.

Around me the room erupted into life. Soldiers yelled new information over their computer screens, orders and death tolls and things I couldn't bring myself to listen to anymore. Silently, I set my 45 on the table with my badge and stumbled backwards. The lieutenants that were around me gave me reassuring squeezes and compassionate looks that did nothing. The cold was consuming me from the inside, freezing everything I was once. The soldier, the scholar, the mercenary, the lover… Alive. I stumbled out of the room, past the monitors and attendants and through the heavy iron door that was held open for me by someone I didn't care to see who it was. It closed slowly behind me. From inside the room, a voice yelled over everyone “Estimated Death Toll! 325,000!”. The door shut with a heavy thud, cutting off the voices, the noise, everything.


	2. Death

_Death..._ It seems like sweet solitude now. The beckon of oblivion. A darkness beyond pain, beyond suffering, beyond the red of the blood that stains my hands and the words that rattle around in my mind. Beyond the red that flows through me, fire against frozen skin that will not thaw.

3 days. Just 3. The sun rises in the morning, but I do not see it. The floor is cold in the apartment, but it is nothing to the cold inside.  _Death toll... 325,000 lives..._ I failed them... the children in the school that waved at me as I rode by; waved at their savior in the armed vehicle, the soldiers that were there to free them... Protect them... 

Another memory, another face that is gone, another wave of pain that coursed through me, curling me into a ball. I had no tears to give, no words to say. I pulled the bottle to my face and drank, fighting fire with fire. It burned, scorched... A numbing pain... For a second it dulled the river of red, just long enough to pick myself up off the floor and stumble out of the baren living room to the bathroom.  _Vomit... Shower...Drink..._ I pulled open the door, leaving the lights off, and walked into the shower.  _clothing..._ I thought helplessly as I slid down the wall, reaching out to turn the cold water on as I went.

It doesn't smell as bad when there is nothing else but vodka and acid... I realized as the cold water flowed over my body, into my hair.

 _"No. You need time off. Go home._ " That is what he said to me... Go home... This is home; home is dead. Another wave of nausea took over me as the cold water washed away the alcohol induced fog of my brain.  _I need sleep... 3 days is too long..._  I vomited again, then pushed myself up onto my heels and under the water. I pulled my soaked t-shirt off, leaving me naked, my knees swimming in vodka and stomach acid, and my head tilted back under the water. 

 _I need to get up. I need to move_... _Soap... Start with soap..._ I thought, reaching out for the bar that laid on the ledge. It was slippery in my palm as I moved it over my body, between my legs and over my stomach and breasts. I washed away the last 3 days of drinking and pain.  _One brick at a time._  I repeated in my head as I lathered up my hands and ran them through my hair.  _Cold... Everything is so cold... I need to be..._ I stopped my train of thought, pulling myself up and pressing my back into the wall of the shower. The sound of the water running finally cut through my thoughts as my eyes really opened for the first time since Thursday.  _I'm still drunk..._ I thought, recognizing the tell tale signs of blurriness in the corners of my vision and the tipsyness of my head.

I turned off the water, picked myself out of the shower, and took my first real step in days. Everything was weak; my legs jell-o, my arms useless. The hard tile of the bathroom floor dug into me as I impaled myself against its smooth surface. I struggled up onto my hands and knees, then felt against the wall and up on my feet.  _12 steps, through the door... the mattress..._  I slumped over onto the thin roll out mattress in the center of the room.  _Empty... Its so empty..._ I closed my eyes against the dark of the room, letting sleep claim me.

* * *

Sore. Everything. Head to toe. I cringed as I stretched my arms and legs out. The bare mattress on the carpet floors under me was damp from my shower, and cold. Everything was cold. The air, the floor, my skin, my heart. I rolled over onto my back, opening my eyes to the dark of the room. Over the windows, black out curtains hung blamelessly against the walls. I pulled myself up, my head protesting with blinding pain. Numbness radiated through my body, numbness and cold. My wall was tentative, but better with sobriety and sleep. I made my way to the wall, flipping on the dim ceiling light so I could dress. Bra, underwear, tank-top, dark skinny jeans, leather jacket and boots that come up to my knees and I could move around, finally. 

 _Food._  I walked out of the room into the dark hall, running my fingers against the smooth wall as I made my way through the darkness.  _Food._ I grabbed my bag off the counter where I had dropped it 3 days ago and headed for the door. Outside was cold, snow falling on the ground. I made my way out onto the street where the fresh snow was already black sleet and down the road. On the corner was the Liquor store I had bought the vodka at on the way back. It was small, dingy, and smelt of cigarettes and booze. Most of the shelves were lined with alcohol. The clerk behind the counter gave me short nod.

"Back for more?" He asked in thick Russian, his broad shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I glared in his direction and he stopped, holding his hands up in surrender to his own little joke.

In the back was a shelf stocked with nuts and crackers and jars of pickled vegetables. I grabbed a bag of peanuts and a small package of crackers and pulled 5 euros out of my pocket. The man looked up in feigned surprise as I set the items on the counter along with the 5 euros. He rang up my order and handed me my change as I scooped up my weak attempt at food.

I stepped outside, reveling in the cold. The nuts were stale and salty, the crackers broken. I walked along the street, popping handfuls into my mouth, not wanting to return to my apartment. My mind was thankfully blank as I walked and ate. The food agreed slightly with my stomach but did nothing to fill the emptiness inside. I tossed the packages in the trash and made my way back to my empty apartment. I mounted the steps, walked through and found myself in the darkness once more. Thoughts stirred in my mind, scratching at the wall, but faded away as I made my way into the room.

 _Ill run, Ill read... Ill move on._ I thought with empty determination, flipping the light on and falling on my knees before my duffel bag. Sweat pants, a hoodie, and running shoes. I pulled them on, leaving my jeans and leather jacket in a pile on the floor. My limbs had stopped shaking, my mind reeling. All the words that had been thrown at me had been silenced.

I stood before the mirror, earbuds in place and toothbrush in hand. The girl staring back at me was thin, and pale with dark circles and tinges of red. The girl staring back at me was cold, dead; there was no emotion in her face that was just pretty enough to not be ugly, but not enough to cover the monster she had become.

"Dive, thoughts, down to my soul..." I quoted Richard the III to the girl in the mirror, with her long red hair and thin frame and dead eyes, as I pushed play and walked out of the apartment. Shoes to pavement, thoughts to rest, each step bringing me closer to forgetting. 


	3. Time Turns

_It has been six months since..._ I thought warily as I stood outside the capitol building in my black slacks and blazer, looking every bit the intern I would have made had I not joined. With a deep breath I made my way up the stairs and through the door.

 _Emma Kaeden, 23, new office assistant._  I repeated in my head as I handed the wary guard my papers and proceed through the checkpoint. I walked past everyone, pretending to look through my maps as I made for the elevator. Eyes followed me as I passed, looking me up and down,  _appraising me as I was to them without their knowledge..._ Resisting the smirk that threatened to curl my lips I reached down and fiddled with the hem of my blazer, waiting for the elevator to arrive. The eyes that followed me soon left, returning to their jobs, losing interest in the new face. With a soft ping, the elevator arrived and I clammered in, abandoning the grace I acquired through training to make my facade more believable. I hit the buttons, waited for the doors to slide shut, then stood, bringing myself back to my normal stature.

_I am the assassin, the mercenary, the spy... I am the face in the darkness that no one remembers... That is what I am, that is what I have always been. I am the shell of a girl that once lived, a meat suit with nothing, wanting nothing... This is where I belong; alone, working undercover, where no one knows me and no one will remember._

The elevator stopped on the top floor and I stepped out into the foyer. Two guards stood at attention, regarding me mildly. Behind them were two great oak doors that were cracked open slightly. With a short, acknowledging nod, I walked past them and through the slightly ajar doors.

"Vladimir." I said cooly, shutting the door behind me.

"Anna... or is it Natalia still? I didn't really read into the orders too much..." He said dismissively, waving a hand in a sit gesture at the empty chair opposite the desk he sat behind. I walked over and sat down, crossing my ankle across my knee.

"Emma Kaeden." I replied, letting my lip curl up in a soft smirk. Vladimir folded his hands on the desk before him and fixed me with his business stare.

"So you understand the predicament, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you understand your orders?"

"Yes, sir."

He looked me over and then let a tight smile cross his lips as he relaxed. "Good, here is my calendar. Your desk is through there." He handed me a black, leather, portfolio and gestured through the doors. "Get to work."

With that I was off. I settled into the empty desk in the room, set the folder on the glass top, and fired up the computer on the desk.  _Im his fucking assistant._ I thought sourly as I opened the portfolio and started entering appointments in his calendar. 

* * *

 

_"Ross!" The commander had called from across the barracks. I swung my legs off the table and stood._

_"Yes, Sir!" I responded._

_"Sec needs you in his office."_

_"Yes, Sir!" I answered, the perfect soldier, and practically ran to the generals row. Secretary Carter's door was slightly ajar, and he sat behind his desk, weighing a manila folder in his hands._

_"Ross, sit." He said as I knocked lightly on the door. I walked in and took the seat before him._

_"Vladimir has requested our assistance weeding out a security threat in the capital. Apparently, someone in his office is leaking secrets to a third party. The stability of Russia is of the utmost importance. So... You will be going undercover as his assistant and interpreter."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"You leave at 1700, tomorrow, out of Bosworth. Here." He handed me the folder. "Dont be late."_

_"Yes sir." I took the folder and turned to leave, questions burning inside me._  I'm going back... back there. _Images of moscow, the security ward, Putin behind his desk telling me to go home. Last time I was in moscow, 352,642 people died, 300 of those mine. And now I was going back. I reeled._

_"Oh, and Ross... Keep that bastard alive." Sec growled at me. I gave a short nod and left in contemplative silence._


End file.
